


What I Won't Tell You

by keyboardclicks



Category: The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue Series - Mackenzi Lee
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 21:56:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12662211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keyboardclicks/pseuds/keyboardclicks
Summary: "What kind of pervert gets off thinking about his best friend?"





	1. Monty

Oh goddammit.  It’s happening again.

“Monty,” I groan aloud to the otherwise empty room, “you can’t keep doing this…”

It’s the dead of night, thank god, and find myself in that strange area between sleep and wakefulness that has always managed to conjure strange images and scenarios in my mind.  There’s been a recurring one for some time now that’s both extraordinarily pleasant and incredibly torturous, and it seems that this night it’s decided to revisit me.

The image is of Percy, because honestly who else would it be?  He’s naked and on the bed with me and giving me a look that goes straight between my legs.  He’s crawling up the bed on hands and knees to hover over me, to look at me through lidded eyes, taking my bottom lip between his teeth then pushing his tongue into my mouth.

I swear with everything I have that it’s not intentional, that I have tried to the best of my abilities to stop this enticing image from flashing through my mind when I am about to fall asleep.  For as brief at it may the side-effects are long felt, and I’ve learned the best course of action is to deal with them myself.  Even a drink won’t get rid of the itch; if anything, it only makes it stronger.

My eyes remain shut.  I can pretend he’s really there if I do that.

A hand wraps around my prick and begins a torturously slow stroke.  Percy looks from it, then back up at me, then smiles but says nothing and just runs his fingertips over my face and chest while I stare up at him, completely undone and waiting and his.  We could have been at this for hours already with how I’m panting.  I flick my tongue out when his fingertips ghost over my lips, willingly opening for him when he pushes for them to part.  They press into my mouth and I circle my tongue around them, ignoring the warm slickness I feel against my own digits and focusing on the way Percy bites his lip.

“You little harlot,” he says, but it isn’t demeaning.  It’s endeared, wanting, with a curve at the corner of his mouth and affection in his eyes.  “Look how badly you want me.”  He slips in a third finger to join the others.  I grab his wrist and push them further in, up to the third knuckle, loving the taste and feel of his talented, sensitive hand in my mouth, each finger curling and pressing.

Percy swallows.  The lust-clouded black of his pupils nearly cover all of the dark brown of his eyes.  His breathing has grown heavy and labored.

“Monty…”

I want to respond, to say something dirty and charming that will make him fall instantly in love with me, but the only thing I’m able to do is flutter my lashes and give a calculated lowering of my lids to say  _ take me, darling, I’m yours.  Do whatever you want.   _

He kisses my neck, my collarbone, my chest, runs his wet tongue over sensitive patches then blows cool air to make me shiver.  He digs his thumb into the concave of my hip then takes his fingers from my mouth and stokes my prick with that hand so it feels slick and slippery.

“More,” I breathe when his knee presses carefully but infuriatingly between my legs.

“More,” I groan when he bites and kisses at the skin below my ear.

“More,” I whimper when I know any moment this will end.

Percy’s voice floats into my ear, low, hypnotic and soft.  “You feel so good, Monty…”

The release is bittersweet.  A crashing wave of euphoria that shoots through my body from tip to toe and makes me glad we live in a large manor with bedrooms all very far away from one another so nobody can hear Percy’s name on my lips.  I can taste it, though, and I’m not sure it will ever leave my mouth, nor that I want it to.

But then it’s over, and I am again alone.  A thin layer of sweat coats my body and I’ve released against my hand.  There is no Percy to whisper lovely and dirty things to me, no other body to warm the bed.  There’s only me and my depravity, my chest rising and falling as I struggle to fully catch my breath.  This is reality, and I’m much too sober for it.

My arms wrap around one of my many pillows when I flip onto my stomach with a groan, hiding my face from whatever perverted, peeping, and not to mention cruel gods may be watching me.  

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I mumble.  “Every time this happens you say you’ll stop but you never do.  You’re disgusting; what kind of pervert gets off thinking about his best friend?”

This kind, obviously.


	2. Percy

God has to be testing me and to be honest, I’m getting really tired of it.  Especially considering I have failed every test so far, and yet they keep coming with no end in sight.  Perhaps it’s because I rarely try fighting them at this point, but when you have so much else going on in your life you really must learn to pick your battles.

And I need sleep, so whatever gets this done the fastest is what I’ll choose.

It’s not as if I meant to fall head over heals for Monty.  It’s also not as if I meant to start having sordid fantasies about him at night.  Both of these things are just unfortunate side-effets of him being so bloody irresistible.  Completely his own fault, too; he knows what he's doing!

Tonight Monty’s on his knees at my bedside, looking up at me through his lashes and running his hands up my thighs.  My hand is in his hair, which is rumpled and perfect and so soft between my fingers.  The room is still and quiet and it’s only us, covered in moonlight and splashed with the warm glow of the lantern on my bedside locker.  His lips brush my inner thigh and I tremble, letting out a single, trilling breath.

“Steady on, darling,” he teases, and I want to tell him to shut up but his voice is thick and sweet like honey.  There’s nothing I can do nothing but submit to the shiver that shakes me from the base of my spine and leaves my fingers and toes curling.

And it’s so unfair how easily I can see his mouth parting for me, see his lovely pink lips stretching around my prick and feel the texture of his tongue.  How vividly his hands press into and parted my thighs.  How even with a mouthful he smiles, dimples showing and the corners of his eyes scrunching up.  He even winks at me, the cheeky bastard!  

I tighten my grip on his hair to push him forward and his moan rocks me.

“You love this, don’t you?” I gasp.  “You love being mine.”

His response isn’t verbal but instead the press of his tongue against somehow the most sensitive part of my prick.  Then he pulls off, lips tight and movement slow, finishing with a filthy and satisfying _pop._ He looks up at me, eyes clouded and lips red and raw.  I feel that the taught string of our gaze may snap when he turns to bite at the inside of my thigh but we never break contact.

“You’ve got such a lovely cock,” Monty smiles, moving his hand to torture me with feather-light touches.  He's always such a tease.  “I love how it feels.  Darling, why don’t you give me a bit of a taste, too?”

I don’t mean to pop off so suddenly but it happens anyway.  My eyes clench and I bite my lip to avoid announcing my shame to the room, body clenching and the knot in my stomach finally releasing.  A warm tingle fills every part of me as I collapse heavily onto the bed, sated and smiling while a pleasant lack of thoughts occupy my brain.  But then the dream vision fades, reality sets back in, and I’m left alone with only the mess in my hand and my swimming vision.  

I lay still for a few moments to regain my breath, then wipe myself on a coverlet and toss it uncaringly to the floor.  Suddenly I’m tired and groggy and feel a disgusting guilt bubbling up in my throat so potently that I think I might vomit, but I manage to swallow it down.  Instead I hurry to bury myself under my covers and try to push those images of Monty to some forgotten corner of my mind where they can no longer bother me.

It isn’t easy.


End file.
